


The Date, April 7, 1970

by MissAtomicBomb77



Series: For the Greater Good, Let's Do the News [3]
Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-07 00:25:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissAtomicBomb77/pseuds/MissAtomicBomb77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re very lucky. She never has anyone for drinks, let alone dinner.” </p><p>Charlie isn’t quite sure how he feels about that particular piece of information.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Date, April 7, 1970

April 7, 1970  
4:56pm  
Hotel Le Royal  
Phnom Penh, Cambodia

The small convoy pulls up at the hotel and Lee jumps out of the jeep as soon as it slows to a stop. She looks back at Charlie and asks him in French if he would like to come in for a drink. Charlie looks back at his interrupter and friend Phat, who was driving the Jeep. He smiles and slaps him on the back in an effort to get him to go. Charlie takes the encouragement, grabbing his battered shoulder bag and hopping out right behind her. “Go, go.” The interrupter says to the driver and a moment later both jeeps peel away.

Charlie is standing in front of the hotel, lost for a moment before she waves him to come in. She looks very surreal to him in her second hand army fatigues, holding her handbag, waving him to come. He has been to this hotel once or twice; some of the reporters from the New York Times have rooms here. They prided themselves on being elitist snobs but every now and then would invite other reporters over, under the guise to generate new leads and new ideas. The parties were mostly to see if there were any new reporters they could take advantage of. The hotel has a very open lobby, up a few steps and one is technically inside the building.

“Let’s find a table.” She says to him in perfect English. She leads him to the hotel restaurant and bar and she finds a table she likes, by the open windows but still a few steps away from the bar. She has him sit as she darts up to the bar and just throws herself up on it, legs dangling behind her as she talks to the bartender. He sees the bartender nod a few times and soon enough she’s hopped back down and returns to the table she’s left Charlie. “I’m going to run upstairs and change, be right back?” She says to him.

“Yes, of course.” He responds in kind and with that, she works her way out of the room. Charlie was taken aback with her English. It was perfect and he wonders now why she was speaking French to the UPI reporter earlier in the day.

It seems like the moment she’s out of his sight, the bartender is at his table, with drinks in hand. The bartender leans in very much like a conspirator. “You’re very lucky. She never has anyone for drinks, let alone dinner.” 

Charlie isn’t quite sure how he feels about that particular piece of information. He’s quiet for a few moments, looking out the window to the hotel courtyard as he waits for her to return. He picks up the glass left in front of him and takes a sniff, whisky. Boy, he thinks to himself, she doesn’t mess around. 

He has the distinct feeling he’s been targeted now as he turns to look at the few people in the rest of the room and he catches more than one glare from some familiar looking faces, including a few of the guys he recognizes from the Times. He has a distinct feeing that while those guys may now have painted an imaginary target on his back, it’s the woman that just returned to his table in a breezy thin skirt and a man’s dress shirt that he suddenly needs to fear. 

“That was incredibly fast,” he tells her.

“I’m only on the second floor, took the stairs. No clout like some others.” She takes her seat across from Charlie so she can raise her glass to the few faces that were looking in their general direction. “I sat you with your back to them because they’re not going to be able to hide their contempt.”

“I take it there’s been more than one rejected advance?” He smiles at her.

Lee swallows the contents of her glass in one swoop. “Yes. I think they expected me to fall into bed and be grateful to them the minute I arrived. Especially the guys from New York, they must have a thing for the blond hair, I suppose.” She takes this moment to work the mess of bobby pins in her hair and let it escape from the tight bun that it was piled into on her head. She just drops them on the table and it becomes a scattered mess.

“Hmm,” He follows suit and drinks the content of his glass. He set down his glass and absently picks up one of the bobby pins and taps it on the table.

“The difference is that you’ve actually done something for me and not just wanted something from me.”

“I don’t expect anything now.” He says, looking her straight in the face. “I was doing what any other human being would have done, should have done.”

“It’s because you’re an honorable man.” She emphasizes the word honorable just a bit loud and Charlie could tell that she was directing the comment as someone well behind them. “I’m sorry,” Lee tells him. “I don’t like being what people expect.”

“I suppose I don’t like being what people expect either.”

“I was hoping you would expect something after today.”

“Could I say that I hoped for something to eat?” 

She smiles as he dodged the implication. “How keen are you on the local cuisine?” She asks as she waves to the bartender to indicate a refill of their drinks.

“I’m not offended by rice.” Charlie offers.

She scrunches her lips in a strange fashion, not sure if she should be disappointed or understanding. “You’re just a typical American, not interested in learning about how the natives live.” When the bartender returns, she asks him in French for two orders of Pleah. 

“What did you just order?”

“Beef and rice, I didn’t want to offend your pallet.” She says simply.

“Isn’t that a traditional wedding dish?” He asks, obvious that he had been thinking about it for a moment.

“Celebration dish,” she responds. “You do know a little something about the locals.” She smiles at him them, even though he is lost in thought looking at the table.

“My friend, the interrupter, Phat, he keeps me from being a complete hermit.” Charlie says shrugging his shoulders. 

“Yet you were out on the joyride this afternoon.” She says, now finding one of her bobby pins on the table and is tapping it in an echo to his movements. 

“Between projects,” he responds. “It was more of an excuse to get out of the city for a little bit.” He looks at her now the gentle tapping that was echoing his caught his attention. He’s looking at her now and she has this full on dazzling smile for him and it was as if someone had knocked the wind out of him and he was stumbling backwards.

She notices the lost look on his face. “Hi,” she purrs at little. 

Charlie smiles back at her. “You are an unusual woman. I can’t tell what you’re thinking.”

“Probably because half the time I don’t know what I’m thinking,” she says matter of fact. “I chose what I want to do when I want and just do it. Up until about this afternoon, I’d been like you, hiding out for my own reasons, but I don’t think that’s really me.”

He nods now and understands that this dinner is as strange for her as it is for him. It’s not as if he doesn’t date, far from it in his youth, but here in the last few years the greater good was more appealing than women, until now. He understands that he needs to handle her with care; he thinks that there is a distinct possibility that she’s in shock and this whole, well, date, was just a reaction to her near death experience. At least, those are his preliminary thoughts. 

“So, Lee,” he asks. “Why are you here?”

“Ah, business,” she says, sitting back. “I’m with Agence France-Presse, but from Canada. You?”

“UPI, but I’m not a beat reporter. I write features and magazine articles, in fact mostly magazine articles now. I was embedded with the 144th Artillery for a while in Vietnam, but it was… hard.”

She could read between the lines. “Lost some friends?” She says, almost a whisper. 

“Yeah,” he looks away for a moment out to the courtyard before looking back at the table, downcast. 

“I’m trying to do more, but I make my living translating,” She sighs. “It’s better than nothing and it’s enough to keep me overseas. I came here from Vietnam a few months ago in hopes of getting in front of things. Not going well.” She admits.

“I think,” he says smiling, “That you’re hanging with the wrong people. This lot, they’re useless.” He gestures behind him.

“I’ve come to that conclusion,” she says smiling at him. “You… you’re different.”

“I’m not different. I just do things my own way,” Charlie shrugs.

“Don’t we all?”

He’s looking at her now and sees this smile curl on her lip and has the distinct impression that she’s about to attempt to hitch on to his wagon. “I don’t work well with people,” he says in an effort, trying to dissuade her.

“Who says I’m people?” She counters.

“You have this look, like a feline and I suddenly feel like a mouse that’s about to get devoured.” He can’t help but laugh a little at that.

“Ah,” she says. “Are you more of the lone wolf type?”

“That’s exactly my type. Do what I want when I want. I have no master.”

“Except for UPI,” she reminds him.

“Eh,” he says, “They really aren’t my bosses. I turn things in, they pay me. They don’t tell me what stories to look for.”

She nods at this as their dinner arrives. “I envy you.”

“Don’t,” Charlie tells her. “I am no one to envy. I’m just a mess and staying away from the mainstream is exactly where I need to be.”

“Me too,” she says, popping a spoonful of food in her mouth.

“You want to tell me why you’re here?” Charlie is staring at this dish he was served and he’s trying to keep an open mind, but he really didn’t bargain for the clear sauce the beef was swimming in. “I can’t imagine you’re here for the same reasons I am.”

“I wanted to work. I have a degree, I know two languages and I can write.” 

He’s watching her now and she’s focused on eating, but he has the sneaking suspicion that’s not the entire story. Charlie’s not an idiot, he knows that if he pushes, she gains the right to push back and he really, really, really doesn’t want to talk about it. 

“Why are you here?” she asks between bites.

Even though she’s not looking, he shrugs his shoulders. “Nothing to go home to, it sounds like I’m not as educated like you and I have just enough experience to keep me afloat.” He uses his fork to push the food around some more. He hasn’t actually committed to a bite.

“I’d like to read some of your work, if you don’t mind.” 

He looks up then. “Yeah, I can…” Before he can say anymore, she’s stuffed a piece of beef in his mouth with her fork. His eyes go wide for a moment, but he relents and finally begins to eat. Okay, he thinks, this isn’t bad.

She smiles now as she can see his thought process cross his face even though he hasn’t said a word. She helps herself to a piece of beef from his plate and continues as if the entire exchange never happened. “I would love to see your portfolio.”

He nods now, in the negative as he swallows. “I don’t have a portfolio.” He starts to devour his meal.

“You should, for your reference at minimum. Maybe I can help you with that sometime?”

He stops eating long enough to look up at her and tilts his head. “Maybe?”

She can tell he doesn’t see the value in it. However, he had already admitted that his experience was practical and there’s little chance he’s going to be looking for a job in say, New York, anytime soon. “I think you’ll find it helpful,” she says, taking a moment to finish her drink. “I can show you mine if you like. I’m sure you’ll find women’s fashion quite dull and gossip reports reprehensible because that’s exactly what I think of them. I have a few decent interviews from my college days.”

“Interview anyone worth interviewing?” Charlie is surprised to see her blush slightly.

“My current claim to fame is a college interview with Alan Ginsburg. The article itself was rather mundane, but the actual interview was… unusual.” 

“Well, I’ll be sure to read it if you have it.”

Dinner was over soon enough and over their third glass of whiskey each, he offered and she accepted a cigarette. “I normally only have one a day,” she admits, “but I think today qualifies as an exception, don’t you?”

Charlie nods in agreement. “I can go without. Not addicted to them, but they aren’t offensive.” 

“I’m afraid I am slightly addicted to them. It was bad a few years back, but I’m keeping it in check now.”

Charlie nods in understanding. “At least you recognized it. You’ll overcome it if you chose.”

“Maybe,” she says, looking out the window. “Maybe it’s a holdover from home? Oppressed homesickness?”

He smiles at her. “But are you homesick?”

“No. No, no.” She thinks about it half a second more. “No.”

“You don’t miss Canada?”

She agrees almost too easily. “Not in the slightest.”

The conversation comes easily, about work, about the country, about who they know in the room, who they avoid in the room. They have some common ground in the community but as they talk, it’s apparent why they really have never met or talked before today. They seemed to have contacts in common back in Saigon, but not running in the same circles. He’s not sure why, but he finds it odd that a Canadian such as herself has so many American contacts. Not to mention knows quite a bit about the dynamics of the different news agencies so well. Soon, they are talking about living and working in Cambodia and Vietnam. The differences between the two countries were another conversation onto itself and soon enough, they are soon the last people in the restaurant.

They’re quiet now, but not uncomfortably. As if this was one more dinner in a string of dinners, only those have never happened. She starts to gather the hairpins off the table and he helps. Without much conversation, they leave. He walks next to her, his hands neatly behind his back, hers at her side, a purse slung over her shoulder. She’s leading, he’s following and soon they have ascended the stairs to the second floor and are hovering in front of her door.

“Good night Lee,” Charlie says softly as she works the key to her door. He turns and is slowly walking away when she speaks again. 

“Well?” Leona calls from the door of her hotel room. “Are you going to come in or not?”

Charlie stopped in the hallway of the hotel and without turning around, leaned his shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms in front of him. He couldn’t turn around because he was smiling from ear to ear and didn’t want to offend her. He had known the entire time they were together tonight that there was something about her and her behavior that he couldn’t put his finger on and it finally clicked for him. “You’re an American, aren’t you?” He called over his shoulder.

“Peut-être,” Maybe, she says. 

“You speak in French to the fools that you can’t suffer and pretend not to understand when they bore you.” He continues. She can’t see his face, but he nods slightly, pleased with his assessment of her. 

“Maybe I’ve finally found someone I don’t believe to be a fool.” She says.

“I don’t think I’m going to come in.” Continuing, he still has his back to her and he shrugs his shoulders. “I had a wonderful evening with a beautiful woman that’s turned out to be something more than I expected. I’m not interested in just a single night, no matter how passionate.”

“How dare you!” She accuses in English from the doorway. “Vaniteux,” Conceited, she says under her breath.

“No, I’m just a gentleman Lee and I want to see you again. Here, again, tomorrow. I want to have the same evening again, without any looming expectations.” He can’t look back at her because he’s completely certain that she’s fuming and the fumes would become flames if she were to lay eyes on his smug smile. “Au revoir,” Goodbye, he calls, waving his hand in the air, not looking back. "Bonne nuit et fais des beaux rêves." Good night and sweet dreams.

Leona is fuming a little, not sure if she should be offended or delighted that he turned her down. She watched him walk down the hall and right before he turned to the stairs, he did glance back for a moment. She wasn’t offended by the look on his face, in fact, she was enthralled. “Oui, demain est un autre jour!” Yes, tomorrow is another day, she calls to him.

She could her him laugh as he darted down the stairs. She likes him, she decides. She likes this Charlie Skinner quite a bit.


End file.
